Well, I held off on posting this in hopes that the alerts would start working again. And then finally decided to suck it up and post either way...and tada! The alerts are back up again. Whoo hoo!! So I hope this was worth the wait. I was so pleased that so many of you went off in search of this story regardless of the sporadic alert system this site seems to have. You all rock! Thanks for all your awesome support.
The coordinates led to Independence, KS, a small town about three and a half hours from Lawrence. Dean had a niggling feeling that he'd heard of the town before, that it had some significance to it besides just being a town in the same state they were born in. He wanted to leave right away, and the hint of light finally reflecting from Dean's eyes almost made Sam say yes to that request. But Dean had therapy that day, and Sam had an all too rational fear that if they missed their appointment it could be the last one Dean had. He had no way of knowing how long it would be until the state caught up with the rehab facility; he didn't know how long Dean would have access to the high tech leg they had left behind the previous week for more adjustments. If this really did turn out to be a wild goose chase as Sam feared, and they came back empty handed, Sam needed to feel that damage control had already been done. No, they had to wait on the coordinates.
He let Dean drive again, pleased that the little gesture allowed the spark of light to continue to shine in spite of his command that they put off their trip to Independence. Dean seemed more comfortable behind the wheel now, less tense, less fearsome that he might inadvertently crash the car without a second leg available to help do the driving. He seemed at home yet again behind the wheel of his beloved car, and that made Sam happy. As they pulled out onto the four lane toward the Lawrence rehab Hospital Dean smoothly leaned over to pop in one of his Metalica tapes, turning the music up full blast and pounding out the drum beat on the steering wheel with his open palm. Sam looked over and smiled a true smile for the first time since Dean had been hurt, the normalcy of the situation more than he could have possibly expected.
Instead of waiting to be led to the gym as they had in the past, the brother's found their own way this time, choosing a table on the far wall out of the way of the other occupants of the room. Dean sat, his nervousness immediately apparent once again as he prepared for another round with the hated contraption. Sam still maintained that this was the best way for him to get on with his life, that it would help him to become everything he once was. Deep down, Dean knew Sam was right. He knew the prosthetic was his best chance at regaining his life. But it was still too hard to accept; still too hard to believe that his flesh and bone had been reduced to carbon and fiberglass.
Things hadn't gone well on his first fitting, although, aside from the obvious he had managed to keep the majority of it to himself. His stomach had rebelled horribly, churning and sloshing, and it was all Dean could do to keep the contents in his stomach where they belonged, to not tell Sam that he was barely keeping his lunch down. The socket had felt weird suctioning to his leg, and the pressure was beyond imaginable - completely indescribable. He had no way of explaining the odd way it had pressed against his remaining leg, making the limb feel as though it was nothing more than a peg in a hole.
He cringed when he saw Dr. Jennings heading his way, the high-tech limb resting in both hands as he clenched a nylon bag between his elbow and his side. The man grinned when he saw the brother's waiting for him, nodding his greeting to them. "Afternoon boys!" he said as he came within speaking distance. "Glad you could make it back today. Dean, are you ready to give this another try?"
You promised Sam, Dean reminded himself before nodding hesitantly. He forced himself to remember Joe Rombardi and the fact that he seemed virtually normal, made himself remember the impressive slam dunks, the way he had run circles around the men who had guarded him. He could do that; Joe had promised. Sam had promised. Dr. Jennings had promised. And Dean had promised he would try.
"Let's get on with this thing."
"I see you remembered to bring an extra shoe today," the doctor remarked with a pleased grin, eyeing the tennis shoe that sat at Dean's side, a clean match to the slightly more scuffed shoe on his right foot. "Let's go ahead and put that on the prosthetic before we get you situated. Do you want to do it?" Jennings offered the leg to his patient as he waited for a response.
Dean shook his head. "It..it would be too weird," he explained, crossing his arms against his chest.
"I'll do it," Sam offered, the slight hesitation in his voice stemming from his fear of Dean's response to his continued eagerness. He took the leg from the doctor's outstretched hand, resting it lightly on his lap as he undid the laces of the shoe and pulled the two sides apart as much as possible. The shoe slid on easily, fitting snug over a mechanical foot made to match the length of Dean's right foot. He had feared that the extra space left over from a flat piece of metal instead of a fully molded foot might make it loose within the shoe, but the distance between the 'toe' and the 'ankle' was a perfect match to the distance within the shoe.
After tying the laces snugly and flexing the ankle a few times as he pulled at the shoe to make sure it was secure, Sam handed the prosthesis back to the doctor for the next step.
"Do you remember what we did on Friday?" Dr. Jennings prompted his patient, handing the nylon bag over to Dean as he spoke.
Dean opened the bag, noticing the remaining components for his leg inside, and shook out the contents onto the table beside him. "Vaguely," he admitted grudgingly. He didn't want to do this, really didn't want to have to do it by himself.
"I'll talk you through it," Jennings replied. "But you're going to do the steps this time."
Glancing at Dean, Sam noticed the abject fear marring his features and realized he was shutting down again. "You can do this, Dean," Sam prompted gently. "Come on, Dean, this is easy. You've faced so much worse." He just wished what he was saying was true. Demons they could handle. Poltergeists, piece of cake. Banshee's and Werewolves, not a problem. But getting your leg chopped off and then learning how to walk on a manufactured leg? Now that was something they had never encountered, and if he was secretly scared to death he could only imagine what Dean was feeling right about now.
But somehow his words managed to provide the comfort and security he'd been trying for and Dean nodded with slight determination. "I do the liner first, right?" He rooted through the pile for the sock looking thing and waved it apathetically at the doctor.
The man nodded. "That's right. Just make sure it's nice and snug; no wrinkles, remember?"
Dean nodded, rolling up the leg of his pants as he did so and pulling the liner as snugly as he could. Sam noted he'd blanked his face completely as he began the process, as though he was totally removing himself from the task at hand. He was practically robotic in his motions. But the younger Winchester said nothing to bring his brother around. If this was what he needed to make it through the task he would give him that much - for now.
"Then the sleeve?" Dean asked flatly, fingering the padded foam between his thumb and forefinger. He was already struggling to pull it on as the doctor nodded.
"And now the leg itself," Jennings finished, pushing the prosthesis in Dean's direction.
Dean sighed, hesitating before he accepted the new limb. But once it was in his hands he went back to his stone faced aloofness. He flexed the residual limb a bit, settling it within the confines of the cloths before pulling the stiff socket over top, gritting his teeth as the pressure flared anew around his limb.
"How's that feel?" Dr. Jennings asked, watching Dean's face for any signs of discomfort.
"It's fine." For a fucking piece of metal.
"Are you ready to give standing a try again?"
Taking in a deep breath and holding it for several seconds Dean contemplated his options. He could take the easy route and just say no. But Sam would be so disappointed, and he had promised he would give this a try. He could say yes, of course. How hard could this really be? Remove himself from the surroundings. Concentrate on something else to pass the time; to pretend he wasn't trying to walk around on some piece of fabricated metal trying to pass for a leg. It would make Sam happy, and that's what his life was about. If Sam was happy, he could be happy. Now he just had to keep reminding himself of that mantra. That's what he would focus on - making Sam happy.
So he nodded. "Yeah, let's give this a try." Once again, Dean found himself the victim of Dr. Jennings touchy-feely hands, grabbing him around the waist as he hoisted himself up on his crutches.
"Let's try to put some weight on the leg now," Jennings prompted, steadying himself in anticipation of a potential collapse. "Nice and easy."
Keeping his eyes and mind focused on Sam, Dean shifted his weight to the prosthetic, hesitating somewhat until he was assured that there would be no stabbing pains like he had experienced the first time around. It was just a dull, constant pressure that greeted him as he pressed more weight into the new device, finally allowing himself to evenly distribute his weight across both legs as he would normally do.
"How does that feel?" Sam asked, jumping the gun on asking the same question the doctor was about to ask. He just needed to feel involved; to feel needed. If he only knew just how important he was to the whole process...
"Okay," Dean answered, unable to hide the surprise in his voice as he finally accepted the leg to be slightly cool. He was standing; even, balanced. Dean had lost all hope of that ever happening after he woke up to find his leg gone, and yet here he was, defying the odds. Sammy may just be right after all. Just can't tell him that - gotta keep the kid on his toes.
"Do you think you're ready to give walking a try?" Jennings asked, hoping he wasn't pushing too soon, hoping he was reading his patient accurately.
Dean responded with a slight nod. "I think that would be alright."
"Okay then. Let's go on over to the parallel bars over there and give it a try. Do you think you can make it over there alright, or do you want me to get a wheelchair?"
"No wheelchair!" Dean snapped, more animated than he'd been since they had arrived. He calmed down when he noted Sam and Jennings' shocked faces at his unnecessary outburst. But where the prosthesis just made him feel dependent, wheelchairs made him feel completely helpless. He wouldn't use one unless there was no other way. So he calmed his voice and tried again. "I can make it over there on my own."
"That's fine," Jennings voiced, and he and Sam both began following Dean to the bars as he hobbled along at a reasonable pace, his knee bent at a slight angle to keep the prosthetic off the floor. Once there, he relinquished the crutches to Sam and took hold of the parallel bars, one of the cold metal bars gripped tightly in each hand. He just stood there, waiting, as Dr. Jennings came around to the other side of the bars, crossing between them as he came to meet Dean at his station.
"Are you ready to try a step?"
No. Damn it, no! What if this doesn't work? What if I've gotten Sam all excited and then I can't do it? I can't do that to him. I can't let him down. Dean stood stock still, staring through the doctor as he fought for control of his thoughts. He seemed to be in shock, once again locked in his mind as the fear began to gain control.
Sam seemed to sense Dean's fear, somehow knew where it stemmed from, and he stepped forward to provide the necessary comfort. "You're my brother, Dean," Sam whispered in his ear as a comforting hand was placed on Dean's shoulder. "You're my brother, and I love you - no matter what. I don't care if you have one good leg or two; I don't care if you can hunt or not. All I care about is having you here, with me, okay. If you honestly don't want to do this, that's okay, but I can't watch you rot away into nothingness just because you're too afraid to fall. It's okay to fall, Dean. That's why I'm here - to catch you. So just give it a try, Dean. Please."
Dean blinked several times, letting Sam's words sink in. The kid had no idea just how much he'd just hit the nail on the head with his speculation pep talk. Falling equated failure. Failure equated nothingness. Their father had hammered that in - they were nothing if they couldn't be strong. They were nothing if they couldn't hold it together for the fight. It was comforting to hear that Sam would love him either way, but hearing and knowing were two different things. There was only one way to know whether Sam was speaking the truth.
With a determined gaze Dean readjusted his hands on the bar, gripping tighter as he centered his weight over both legs. He waited until confidence was something slightly more than just a fleeting thought, the knowledge that he wouldn't feel totally secure for a long time close in his mind. But what he felt was something; the strength Sam provided him was enough to try his first step. It was a hesitant shuffle forward of his prosthetic leg, moving a mere two inches before he set it down and attempted to lift the good leg. That would be the challenge; could this prosthetic be totally weight bearing. His breath hitched inadvertently as he slowly lifted the right foot an inch off the ground and quickly planted it back down in a somewhat forward position.
The breath he was holding slowly escaped and he saw the edges of Sam's mouth turn up into a smile. "That's it, Dean," Sam whispered, too afraid to voice his enthusiasm any louder for fear that Dean might back off if too much attention was paid to him. "Try it again. Take another step."
Determination sunk in as Dean realized this was more than just a pipe dream. There really was a chance at walking again; there really was a chance at normalcy. He bit down hard on his lower lip in concentration, bracing his arms further down the bars and tried another step, longer this time. And then another. And another. And another.
His gait was choppy, stilted, and there was no question that he wasn't walking on two healthy legs, but it was walking. That's all Sam saw when he watched his brother take his first steps. He didn't see the mass of carbon and fiberglass that gave his brother his newfound mobility; all he saw was the actual motion. He saw the miracle. And in that minute Sam knew there was no way he was letting anyone take that away from his brother. They would have to go through his cold, dead body first.
But then a new question presented itself. Did he appeal to Dr. Jennings humanitarian side? Hope that his desires to help his patients outweighed his desires to make money? Hope that the Hippocratic Oath meant more to him than just a series of words? Or was he giving the man too much credit? It might be easier just to walk out the door with Dean right now and never come back; he had one leg. They could go to another hospital, another place, and get the cosmetic one. There were ways to work this out so that Dean could have everything he deserved to have without risking it being taken away.
In the end, Dr. Jennings made the decision for Sam when he called one of his assistants to come work with Dean as he motioned Sam to follow him. Immediately, Sam was grateful to the man when he didn't say a single word around Dean, but he didn't wait long to broach the subject once they were out of hearing distance. He seemed genuinely apologetic, fearful almost, as though he'd been wracking his brain to come up with some other solution and was maybe hoping that Sam had an answer.
He hesitated when he began to speak, eyes cast downward. He couldn't look Sam in the eye. "Sam, I...uh, I don't know how to tell you this," he began.
Sam helped him out. "It's about our lack of insurance, isn't it?"
Scuffing his toe on an imaginary dirt spot on the tile floor, Dr. Jennings nodded. "I don't deal in payment methods when I speak with my patients," he explained. "That's billing's department. And when no red flags were raised between our first two visits I saw no reason not to proceed with the fittings. But that leg is just far too expensive for the state to pick up the tab."
"I don't understand, doctor," Sam appealed, crossing his arms against his chest. "You designed that prosthetic specifically to fit his leg. It's made completely to his specifications. Aren't you going to lose more money by just taking it away from him? You can't do that."
Jennings' finally looked at Sam, his eyes betraying the contempt he had for state programs and Sam honestly believed he might have a chance with the man. "I wish it were that easy," he apologized. "But the socket is the only specifically molded part of that leg. We can use it with a new, less expensive prosthesis. The rest can still be used for someone else. I wish there was another way, Sam, I really do."
Sam shook his head firmly. Nononono, this can't be happening. This isn't happening. "Dr. Jennings, please. You can't do this to him. You don't understand how hard it's been to convince him to try this. You have no idea how depressed he's been. I only just got him to believe that he can have his life back. You can't just rip it away from him as though his life means nothing. He's a person too. He deserves this just as much as anybody else."
"I'm so sorry, Sam. It's not my call to make. I wish it was - I really do."
"I know," Sam answered. And he did know. But he still didn't understand. "But..." he paused, taking a long break to figure out what exactly he wanted to say. "I know we don't have insurance," he began. "We should - I know, but we move around so much it's hard to find a company that will follow us." Sam had no idea if that excuse could even be true or not; he really had no clue how insurance companies worked, but he assumed they required some kind of permanent address so they could collect and make determinations on the medical personnel their clients chose to see.
When the doctor didn't react to Sam's proclamation he continued. "But the thing is, I have some money in the works. You see, our father passed away not too long ago, and he left us some money..." Good god, I hope he did anyway. "...but with all the red tape you have to cross with this kind of thing it's been slow in coming."
Jennings nodded, eyes glistening as he listened to what the young man had to say. He was more than willing to hear him out, willing to give anything a try.
Sam glanced through the window of the door to the gym, taking a few seconds to watch as Dean continued to work on the parallel bar. Through his fixed determination, there was no mistaking the slight hint of a smile on his face. I'll be damned if I lose this opportunity for him. He'd do it for me. Sam pressed on. "And Dean doesn't know about any of this - he doesn't know about the financial problems we might be facing. I don't want to burden him with that if there's a way to fix this. So all I'm asking is that you give us - me - a little more time. Please. Let him continue to work with the leg, let him practice on it. I promise I will figure out a way to pay for this one way or another."
One look at Sam's pleading puppy dog expression and the doctor melted like butter. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do," he allowed, speaking slowly as he thought through his options. "Our billing department has only provided me with the preliminary issue. They haven't said anything about putting a halt to the work we're doing with your brother - only to inform you that you need to set up alternative payment options. Let's keep up the work for now, and if anybody asks - you've assured me you're working on it. That should buy you at least another week or two before I have to take more formal measures. How does that sound?"
Sam stood stock still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid even to blink for fear that the man's generosity might have all been one gigantic joke. "You would do that for us?" He finally croaked out. That was definitely a first. As far back as Sam could remember he couldn't think of a single time that a stranger had ever gone out of their way to help him or his family. He was more than used to it being the other way around. But this new concept was overwhelming on so many levels.
"I would do it for any of my patients," Jennings downplayed, attempting to make himself appear more distanced from the emotion than he truly was. He'd made a vow to himself to help Dean in anyway that he could, and he planned to honor that promise. This was truly the least he could do.
For a minute Sam contemplated his next question, wondering if he was asking too much, was he pressing his luck. But the man seemed genuinely eager to help. "Can I ask one more favor of you?" He purposely made his voice sound weak, uncertain, and Dr. Jenning's played right into his hands.
"Absolutely, Sam. If I can help I want to."
"Can...can you not tell Dean we had this conversation? I don't want to worry him anymore than he needs to be. I'm certain I can figure out a way to pay for this, but I'd rather him not know there's any problem. He would drop the therapy in a heartbeat, and I'm afraid he might not start up again."
Jenning's smiled and patted Sam on the shoulder. "No need to worry," he assured the young man. "This will remain just between you and me until and unless the day comes that more action needs to be taken. He doesn't need to know any of this."
"Thank you." Sam let out a long sigh of relief as he allowed the doctor to lead him back into the room to Dean. He and the assistant were just finishing up their work and Dean accepted the crutches to make his way back to the table, taking small baby steps with both feet instead of the single footed hopping trip he'd taken to the parallel bars. Sam swelled with pride, totally taken aback at the progress Dean had made in that short period of time. The fact that Dean, too, seemed to be noticeably less tense made Sam even more certain that he would stop at nothing to make sure Dean knew nothing of the financial issues.
"Everything alright?" Dean asked as Sam returned to his side.
"Yup, just fine," Sam assured, quickly formulating his white lie for the occasion. "Dr. Jennings was just telling me that it may take a little longer for the other prosthetic leg to be made. The guy who does the silicone cover is on vacation and won't be back for another week."
"Oh," Dean answered, looking just a little bit disappointed, but masking it well. "So are you ready to get going?" he asked instead. "We've got a long drive in front of us.
Sam nodded. He'd promised Dean that they could leave directly from the rehab hospital - it would cut a half hour off their drive time. And now that Sam knew for sure how much was at stake he was eager to get moving too. There just had to be money at the end of the rainbow. Sam would have it no other way.